"Charlie," said a woman behind me, "are there any more of those cream-filled éclairs?" "I'll go back and find out."
I was glad of the interruption because it gave me time to think about what I had seen.
Certainly, Gimpy had not made a mistake. He had deliberately undercharged the customer, and there had been an understanding between them.
I leaned limply against the wall not knowing what to do. Gimpy had worked for Mr. Donner for over fifteen years.
Donner—who always treated his workers like close friends, like relatives—had invited Gimpy's family to his house for dinner more than once.
He often put Gimpy in charge of the shop when he had to go out,
and I had heard stories of the times Donner gave Gimpy money to pay his wife's hospital bills.
It was incredible that anyone would steal from such a man.
There had to be some other explanation. Gimpy had really made a mistake in ringing up the sale, and the half-dollar was a tip.
Or perhaps Mr. Donner had made some special arrangement for this one customer who regularly bought cream cakes.
Anything rather than believe that Gimpy was stealing. Gimpy had always been so nice to me. I no longer wanted to know.
I kept my eyes averted from the register as I brought out the tray of éclairs and sorted out the cookies, buns, and cakes.
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